


Green is Keen

by glacis



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-29
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:52:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's coworkers attempt to cheer him up with green M&Ms. Sandburg appreciates the result.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green is Keen

A Sentinel froth for the holidays, rated for sex and gratuitous use of candy, from a story idea by S, inspired by Kermit, brought on by boogie-oogie-oogieing and eclairs.

 

Another Christmas. Another season of being assaulted at every turn by Norman Rockwell portraits of American family units that didn't exist anymore, and judging by his past, never had. Too many bright lights, the all pervasive smell of pine scented aerosol sprays and enough cookies to choke a horse, and carols played over and over and over in little tinny Muzak renditions that followed him everywhere he went. It was enough to make him nuts even before his enhanced senses kicked in; now, with everything in hyperdrive, he walked around with a splitting headache for two months, and his mood made the Grinch seem like post-visitation Scrooge.

And Sandburg wasn't helping.

There was a scraggly little excuse for a tree stuck in the corner of the loft -- the kid had said something about Charlie Brown and feeling sorry for the orphan, or some such nonsense. He'd been too busy trying to keep from going deaf from the eightieth  rendition of Little Drummer Boy blaring from the speakers on the tree lot. There was a menorah in the window, not that anyone would see it up on the third floor, but the candles were doing their best. There were holly boughs draped all over the place,  which actually helped cut the gagging pine smell a little, so he hadn't said much about that. And there was mistletoe in the doorway. Sandburg had stopped on the way in last night, but Jim hadn't been paying any attention, and plowed right into him,  shoving him into the living room. There were times when the total lack of personal space between them could lead to accidents. He offered a mumbled apology, and Sandburg had stared back at him, mute for once. He hadn't quite figured out what the big blue eyes were telling him, and the kid had turned and wandered into his room before he could.

Probably just as well. Some of his own thoughts on the subject of his roommate lately could get him arrested. He might even have to arrest himself, if he ever gave into impulse and went, er, primal on the kid.

He stared back at his monitor, sighing without realizing it. A presence made itself known in front of his desk and he glared up at Connor, who was doing her best to look innocent and failing miserably.

"What." Not an interrogative. More a growl, indicative of his absolute lack of interest in anything the other detective had to say. Megan looked crushed for a millisecond, then grinned wickedly.

"Suppose I could say 'sweets for the sweet' but it looks more like it should be 'greens for the Grinch.' Here, Jim, have some candy! This should brighten your day!" She plopped a bowl down on the desk, right in the middle of his paperwork, and hightailed it back to her own desk. Jim stared at the bowl.

Green M&amp;Ms. Someone had gone through the whole bowl and eaten everything but the green ones. He stared at the little round chocolate candies and wondered what the hell his coworkers were thinking about, and how come they had time to sit on their butts  and pick out the yellow and blue and red ones and why on earth anyone would think he would want to eat a half pound of green M&amp;Ms and what they thought it would accomplish if he did. In the background, he heard Brown whisper to Rafe, "Well, s'posed to make you horny, and he sure needs to relax -- maybe if he gets some he'll chill out a little!" Rafe stared back at him, shook his head, and muttered back, "As if. Ellison ... chill ... doesn't quite work together, does it?"

He almost snorted, but didn't want them to know he could hear them. Old wives' tales. Candy was candy, dye was dye, and his hormones didn't need any help, thank you very much. All he needed was time, opportunity, padded cuffs, and several pints of hard liquor poured down his Guide's throat. So much for an active fantasy life. He shrugged, grabbed up a handful of candy, and crunched down on them, glaring in Henry's general direction the whole time. Might as well make the audience happy. Not that it really meant anything. And he, at least, had _work_ to do. With another muffled grumble, he bent his head to the enthralling prospect of yet another ream of repeating himself in quadruplicate.

 

"cold, cold, cold, cold, gonna go on safari to Egypt and bake for a year, cold, cold, cold, cold."

Walking like a constipated Charlie Chaplin impersonator, Blair tucked his chin further into his red and white striped muffler, wrapped his arms more firmly around himself, stuffed his hands as deeply into his armpits as three shirts, a bright red vest with gold trim and a coat would allow, and promised himself that next winter he was going to kidnap Jim Ellison and spend the holidays in Hawai'i. For a bare instant, vivid mental fantasies of rolling in the surf smooching and exchanging vows under swaying palms warmed his blood, then he castigated himself for being a mush headed moron and bounded stiffly into the elevator to head up to Major Crimes.

Even if he could find a way to persuade Jim to change the habits of a lifetime and pork a dude, he couldn't see the guy ever going the sappy romantic route. Not even True Love could change all the habits of nearly four decades of lessons in  sucking it up and holding it in. And if what Carolyn had told him held water, and his own observations indicated it would, then even if he could trip him and beat him to the floor the best part would be the sex. Not the restaurants, not the declarations, and certainly not any monkey suits.

Humming to himself, thanking his Mom for a thorough grounding in Chanukah, Christmas, Yule, Kwanzaa, Ramadan and Saturnalia traditions and all the folk -- and filk -- songs that went with them, he wended his way through the maze of desks, tinsel, empty  chocolate boxes, diet soda cans and paper snowflakes to get to his partner's desk. Jim sat stone still in his chair, one hand splayed across a scattering of papers, the other clenching the rim of an empty bowl with a few flakes of green candy in the bot tom. For a moment, Blair feared that Jim had zoned, but then those glazed ice eyes tracked over to him. He smiled weakly. "Hey, Jim, you okay, man--"

Before he could finish the question, the statue came to life. In a whirl of motion that only went unnoticed by the majority of the Major Crimes team because the ones who weren't out doing the last of their holiday shopping were in a sugar stupor, Ellison whisked around the edge of the desk, wrapped one big paw around Blair's arm, and yanked him into the corridor, down the hall, and into the stairwell.

"Jim? Jim? What the ... what's wrong, man? Whatcha doin', Jim? Jim?? JIM!"

No intelligible words were coming from Detective Ellison or young Sandburg by that point, because Jim had his mouth full, and Blair had his mind blown. Among other things, all of which were centered around Jim's enthusiastic attempts to suck Blair's skin from his body.

Not that his body was complaining, exactly.

'Holy shit.' It was a prayer, even if it was a silent one. He managed to peel his eyelids open and unglue his head from the door, where he was gently pounding it in perfect time to the pulling and swallowing going on down below. Risking a glance, knowing he had finally gone over the edge and was hallucinating his life away, Blair looked down just as Jim was going down.

God.

Or as close as he was ever going to get, anyway.

Long fingers reached out, pried his thighs apart, and curved around his ass to hold him closer, and the last few remaining brain cells that were still fighting for a logical explanation to the present insanity gave up the ghost. He could and no doubt would analyze it later. Right now the only thing he could do was hang on, attempt to stay standing, and try not to scream.

He failed.

He couldn't care less.

 

Simon plowed through the detritus that was his department two days before Christmas and headed for the elevator. He had places to go, politicians to verbally abuse, budgets to stretch. Of _course_, when he got to the elevator, an old guy in overalls was  slo-o-o-owly hanging an out of order sign on the wall and prying open the button panel to play with the wires. Grumping to himself about seven flights of stairs and never letting them see ya sweat, he headed for the stairwell.

It was blocked.

About to really lose his temper, he put his shoulder down and prepared to un-jam it. An instant before impact, he heard it.

A scream.

An agonized, bitten off, animal scream. Instinctively, he reached for the handle again, all his protective police training yelling at him to Save The Victim. Then an older instinct made him stop and listen.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't agony. Sounded an awful lot like ecstasy, actually. In fact ...

It sounded like Sandburg.

Raising one fist to hammer on the door and demand that the kid do his rabbitting elsewhere and on his own time, another sound hit him.

Good God almighty. _That_ sounded like ... Ellison.

Managing the almost impossible, Banks turned pale. He didn't want to know. He just didn't want to know. Much too much information.

A long, low, lush moan interrupted his train of thought, and redirected his attention to the door. He couldn't go in there. Couldn't do anything but think of all the ways he'd like to kill them ... after they were done. Of course, given the fact that  Ellison knew fifty ways to kill a guy with nothing more than a paper clip, he'd no doubt just end up telling them to get a room, for god's sake.

As for now, the politicians could wait. He had a door to guard.

 

Rafe looked up from his desk, wondering where Ellison had gone. He thought he'd heard Blair's voice a little while ago. Wandering over to the other detective's desk, he noticed that all the M&amp;Ms were gone.

Grinning at the thought of the effects of a sugar rush like that on the grumpy guy, he was distracted by an odd procession moving down the hall toward the elevator. Simon led the little parade, looking like a vaguely green tinted thundercloud. Blair followed in his trail, weaving a little on his  feet, muffler hanging off to one side, hair sticking out at odd angles, a huge grin on his face, and all his shirt tails flopping over his jeans. He looked like Kermit the Frog in a bad wig after getting run over by Miss Piggy. Jim brought up the rear,  walking so close behind Sandburg it looked like the little guy was using him for a body brace. He had a loopy look on his face, a hand on each side of Blair's hips, and he was walking funny. Not one of them was saying a word.

In perfect step, they moved past the maintenance man working on the elevator. He started to protest, and they ignored him. Then Simon, with the utmost dignity, hot-wired the elevator. As the doors were closing, Rafe could have sworn he saw Ellison, behind Banks' back, turn Sandburg around and stick his tongue down the kid's throat, with both hands wrapped around the kid's ass.

Eyes ping-ponging between the empty bowl that had once held green M&amp;Ms and the closed elevator doors, Rafe shook his head, refusing to believe what he thought he'd just seen. Stalking back to his desk, he applied himself to his own paperwork with a will.

Four hours later, he was finishing up the last of his files, when Ellison sailed back into the bullpen, Sandburg bouncing in his wake like Tigger on speed. They settled down at the desk, talking quietly, Jim tapping on the keyboard, Blair right beside him, pointing at this piece of paper, shuffling that one. All was as normal as it ever got with those two.

Well, maybe not. As he was walking back from dropping off a file in Simon's office, he happened to glance over to the side. Both men looked very relaxed. Sandburg had his hand in Ellison's lap, and Ellison had a smile on his face.

He stopped dead, then cleared his throat. Ellison still had the smile on his face. Only this time he had his hand in _Sandburg's_ lap. "Anything I can help you with, Rafe?" Jim asked pleasantly. Rafe stared at him.

"Got any more of those green M&amp;Ms?"

_finis_

 


End file.
